


Between Men

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Consensual Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan and Methos - it's as simple as that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Men

**Author's Note:**

> THE LEGAL STUFF  
> This is fairly ADULT material, as in lots of talk about male-male sex, and a little action to top it off. If your country's law finds you too young to read any of this, or if you are not comfortable reading it, go away; Leave for your sake as well as for mine. ;-)
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> The story as such is mine, but neither Methos nor Duncan nor the Highlander universes are; The latter all belong to Davis/Panzer, so far as I know, and possibly others. I only borrowed them for the fun of it, without any intention of infringing on those people's rights. No money made, no harm meant.
> 
> Finally, if you find mistakes or discrepancies, please let me know. Thanks.

_[Modern-day Seacouver, Joe's Bar]_  
   
Suddenly Duncan felt the waiter behind him, standing unnecessarily close both to himself and to the newly arrived guest he was addressing. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” Impertinent.  
   
Funny how the times had changed, Duncan idly mused: in one era the ideal love had been homosexual and in the next the opposite…  
He had once discussed that with a friend who obviously had first hand experience of both.  
   
Methos.  
   
Methos was a legend even among Immortals. The oldest one.  
In his 5000 years he had seen more than MacLeod dared imagine. From dark hints at the historians being stupid about these things, his memory might even reach back, not only to Troy, but even to the times of legendary Atlantis.  
But then, maybe he only enjoyed pulling his friends' collective legs.  
   
On one occasion, they had watched the latest movie at the cinema, and the plot had been set in ancient Rome. Time and again, Methos had muttered “Oh, come on, get real!” or the like. Afterwards, Duncan had asked him about it.  
The older Immortal had explained that only very little of the film had been historically correct or, well, justifiable. Not only that the soldiers had had the wrong outfits and weaponry, but also the whole basic outlook on life had been portrayed distortedly, he had declared.  
   
On the way to the barge, Methos had illustrated with many interesting examples how very different life and mentality in ancient Rome had been from today’s. Since the changes of society and morale had intrigued them both at the time, they had discussed this more closely when they arrived. They had argued, agreed and spun theories on history as such for hours, accompanied by a bottle of good wine or two.  
 

O - - - - - - - - - - - - - O

  
   
_[Paris, Duncan MacLeod's barge, a few months earlier]_  
   
Methos had gently let their chat drift from ancient Rome to ancient Greece, which he knew perhaps even better. When he admitted to a year or so spent in Corinth, Duncan asked: “So, what did you do for fun in those days?”  
   
“Have sex,” Methos answered lightly, reclining on the comfortable sofa.  
   
“Greek style?” Duncan's eyes glittered with humour and curiosity.  
   
“Any style.”  
   
   
Duncan did not answer, surprised by the frank reply. Methos was shy by nature, he knew. Well, at least he had always taken him to be shy. But then, very likely life had long since taught the ancient Immortal to discard that shyness at will. Now, at any rate, he asked directly: “Have you never tried it?”  
   
Duncan had become fairly nervous. He stood to open a fresh bottle and asked stupidly: “What?”  
   
“Sleeping with a man.” Methos' face was unreadable.  
MacLeod remained silent. Slightly uncertain of himself, he shook his head.  
Methos rose to stand before him. Close, but not intimidating. “Just don't judge what you haven't tried yet.”  
   
Duncan swallowed hard and replied honestly: “I don't judge it … anymore.” He was going to add something, but thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Nervously, he drained his glass and set it down, instead.  
   
When Methos urged him to speak his mind, he admitted that with time passing he had become … curious.  
“If you want to find out, I could offer you a one-night-stand.” Methos made it sound casual, but they both knew that he was serious.  
   
In an unusually hoarse voice, Duncan asked: “What is it like?”  
   
“Depends on which way you do it,” Methos replied with a languid smile.  
   
“Which way you…? What do you mean?” Curiosity was decidedly getting the better of him.  
   
“Well you don't always… You know.”  
   
More vehemently now: “No, I _DON'T_ know!” Duncan wasn't about to admit he had formed a rather definite idea, though.  
   
“You're _really_ curious.” Methos sounded almost surprised, but they both acknowledged his flat statement as true.  
   
“Dash it, yes I am!” Angrily, the younger Immortal tried to stare his ancient friend down. When he failed, he conceded grudgingly: “Curious and afraid, if you needs must know.”  
   
“I understand.” Methos relented. “Okay; So what do I mean by ‘which way’? Basically, I should think, there are three varieties to choose from: Number One.” He placed his index finger lightly on his friend's full lips. “Number Two.” He took hold of Duncan's hands momentarily, again very lightly, then let go of one, saying: “And Number Three.” He reached around him with his free hand and touched his behind. “Does that answer your question?”  
   
For once, Duncan felt at a loss. Not that Methos had said much he couldn't have guessed, but… The ancient Immortal was still holding his left hand, playing with it, and on the right there was his arm draped around him…  
   
Now Methos challenged him with a grin: “So how much more do you want to know?”  
   
   
When no answer came, the older one urged: “Well?”  
   
Duncan shrugged, feeling shy. He sighed and finally answered with a single word. “Dunno.”  
His curiosity had gained an erotic quality, mean-while. However, he found it hard to admit to himself that Methos' touch roused him.  
   
Methos released his hand and surprised him by smoothly and firmly touching Duncan's centre. It made him jump, though not before a satisfied smile began to spread on his dark-haired friend's lips. Methos looked down at the bulge in his jeans that seemed to be growing beneath his fingers. “Looks as though you wanted to know a little more, doesn't it?” he commented. When his friend still didn't respond, he began to play with the button of the jeans, asking: “Shouldn't we release this?”  
   
Duncan swallowed hard and, after a moment's hesitation and a dubious look, nodded slowly.  
The button flew open. The zipper followed suit almost of its own accord.  
And after all, why not? At the age of four-hundred-something, surely he was old enough to try something new. 

 

* * *

   
Methos, of course, had no Christian ideals bothering him—he was older than that religion, anyway. So he smiled and watched his friend grapple with his boy-scout morals, waiting patiently as the trousers came off little by little. When Duncan stepped out of his jeans reluctantly, at last, Methos addressed him very quietly: “Trust me.”  
   
He was rewarded by a quick rueful smile. “Making a fool of myself, am I?”  
   
The older Immortal shrugged. “It doesn't matter if you do, as long as you're ready to enjoy it without remorse.” He chuckled: “You'll still be an honourable fool, you know.”  
   
At that, Duncan gave him a mock-angry shove. The older man shoved back and engaged him in a mock-fight, in the course of which Duncan was rid of his underpants, while Methos merely lost his pullover and a shoe.  
The ancient Immortal deliberately let his friend end up on top of him.  
 

* * *

  
Suddenly the younger man realised that Methos was quite passive now and simply smiled up at him.  
“Ummmm… What's that I'm sitting on?”  
   
His friend grinned even more, but answered innocently: “Me.”  
For good measure, he added: “How about releasing me?”  
   
Duncan shook his head and moved his hips, as if to explore the bulge in the other's trousers with his own centre.  
   
Methos breathed more deeply now and his eyes twinkled.  
Eventually, however, he murmured: “Perhaps there's a fourth variety. And I'm finding it rather cruel.”  
   
“Awww!” The dark-haired man on top if him grinned mischievously. “Too bad. I like it.” His hips moved a little more before he sat on the other's thighs and opened the fly of his trousers. “Better?” he asked softly, after watching the relief show in his older friend's face.  
   
 

* * *

  
_*You always need to be in control, huh, Duncan?*_ Methos thought. _*Very well, then.*_ He drew his friend's hand to Duncan's own member, watching his reaction. “Show me what you like.”  
   
Duncan relaxed a little and complied, while Methos stroked his thighs. When asked a few moments later he even consented readily enough to let the older man take over.  
   
Methos suggested shifting to a more comfortable position. He led him to a soft chair, consciously avoiding the bed. It had better not hold certain memories, he decided.  
As soon as his friend sat, he knelt and started doing exactly what he had been shown.  
Then he began weaving in a few specialities of his own.  
 

* * *

  
   
Soon Duncan didn't know what to do with his hands, or how to keep still. At last he held on to the older Immortal's shoulders, his eyes closed and his breath very controlled. He was in two minds about whether he wanted this or no.  
The hand that was stroking him slowed down, and he let out a half-frustrated growl.  
“So, how do you like Number Two,” a mocking voice asked him.  
   
“It's … interesting.”  
The hand stopped dead, yet no reply came. He opened his eyes and saw Methos giving him a rather superior look. Obviously he was simply waiting for him to amend that.  
For an instant Duncan looked away, then he pleaded: “Come on, you know you're an expert.”  
   
“Even an expert might like a little encouragement.” Methos' eyes belied his sardonic voice.  
   
“Okay,” he gave in. “I love your Number Two.” In this position he felt really silly. He wanted to change it. But now the hand had started to move again… He half moaned, half sighed.  
   
Methos' voice was clear and calm. “Then how about trying something else?”  
He clenched his teeth and pretended not to hear.  
Methos ignored that and added a little of “something else”:   
   
   
Duncan had his eyes closed. He nearly jumped when suddenly he felt an unexpected wet touch on the tip of his tool. The touch developed into a wet warmth that encompassed its head. Number One.  
   
It was a familiar feeling, but Methos' tongue moved in different patterns. His sucking hit the right kind of pressure. And Duncan found it oddly relieving he could trust him to know what he was doing while the pressure increased.  
He was just becoming comfortably unaware of his surroundings again when suddenly the pleasurable sensations stopped and the coldness of drying fluids pulled him back into reality. He opened his eyes.  
   
Before he could say anything, Methos spoke. “So, how about Number Three, my lad?”  
   
He resented being called a “lad”, but, aware of how illogical that was, ignored it.  
He found it difficult to make up his mind, anyway. “I don't know… “After a while he added in an unexpectedly husky voice: “What is it like?”  
   
“Find out!” Methos laughed lightly.  
 

O - - - - - - - - - - - - - O

  
   
Well, that had taken courage, true, but it had been a surprisingly pleasant experience.  
Still, he preferred women. Their scent. Their mysteries. Their softness… The thrill…  
   
But, yes, there might be something to this “accepting both yin and yang” thing, after all. Maybe it was indeed better to view men as … an option. Not easier, just wiser.  
It felt good, at any rate, to lie here, drowsy and still pretty sweaty. Methos' arms were drawn around him. They were laughing about some silly joke. Duncan felt hilarious and, somewhere deep down, relieved. Freed.  
   
Despite the usual fierce undercurrent in speech and actions, Methos had been unexpectedly gentle and unselfish.  
Duncan smiled, feeling peculiarly shy.  
 

* * *

   
Methos felt he must give the younger one time to get to grips with this novel experience. He knew Duncan was the kind that wanted to think everything out on his own. He kissed his shoulder, drew back a little. He sat on the floor, propped against the wall, watching him. After a while he asked quietly: “Had fun?”    
Duncan turned to him and smiled: “Yes.” As an afterthought he added: “Thanks.”  
   
“It was my pleasure.” Methos grinned. “Literally. —I'd almost forgotten what it's like to be with a man. These last few centuries rather discouraged it.” He fell silent for a moment, then ventured softly: “Well, I guess I'd better go.”  
He rose and stood close before him, looking into his eyes: “Are you going to be okay?” When his younger friend nodded, he turned and left reluctantly.  
   
 

* * *

  
Somehow, Duncan found that relieving. And somehow it was one of the many factors that kept the episode from standing in their friendship's way.  
 

O - - - - - - - - - - - - - O

  
   
_[Back in Seacouver, at Joe's Bar]_  
   
MacLeod had only recently been reminded that these days the fastest way of scaring off a male stranger was not threatening him, but pretending to make a pass at him. He rather expected the man to react accordingly, find an excuse and leave.  
   
When he turned around to see that happen, however, he changed his mind. No, with this particular man, that strategy wouldn't have worked.  
Methos reached out, gently cupped the waiter’s chin, and smiled a predatory smile. "One, you can stop calling me sweetheart. Two, you can bring me a beer."  
   
For the remainder of the evening, the waiter called him “Sir” (with a discinctly audible capital c), while Joe kept grinning quietly behind his bar.  
 


End file.
